


Another Taste Of Heavenly Rush

by FoxglovePrincess



Series: Your Heart Is The Only Place That I Call Home [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Birth Control, Biting, Childhood Friends, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, M/M, Marking, Medical Examination, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Behavior, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Scenting, Sex, Smut, Spanking, Touch Deprivation - Disease, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:28:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26456428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxglovePrincess/pseuds/FoxglovePrincess
Summary: A week has passed since the reader was marked by Bucky and Steve. She’s happier, she’s healthier. But there’s some lingering issues that she still needs to muddle through.*written in first person with no name assigned, only pet names (kotenok, sweetheart, babydoll). minimal description of reader/narrator appearance, the reader uses female pronouns and has female anatomy.
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Reader, Jane Foster/Sif/Thor, Steve Rogers/Reader, Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Series: Your Heart Is The Only Place That I Call Home [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923169
Comments: 26
Kudos: 338





	Another Taste Of Heavenly Rush

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: mentions of actions (or inaction) that would lead to suicide
> 
> So, I’m a lying liar pants. I thought I was done with this A/B/O story I created and then someone asked about the reader marking Steve and Bucky and now we’re here. This took me a week to write and edit—guess that says something about how prepared I am for this.
> 
> Now, it was supposed to be a short, filthy romp between our reader and her mates, but did it turn out that way? Of course not. Because it never does. There are some feels in there, some stuff I did not see coming. And it also turned out a lot longer than I was anticipating.
> 
> So, enjoy the 14,000 word sequel to You Left Me In The Dark (because I am not splitting this puppy into two chapters). 
> 
> Tell what you think in the comments. If I’m missing any tags, let me know (I tried to get everything, but no one’s perfect).
> 
> UnBeta’d, so all mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title taken from “Breath of Life” by Florence + the Machine.
> 
> This work is not to be reposted on any other site without my explicit permission.

The flimsy paper crinkles beneath me with every breath and sticks to my ass like it’s trying to bond to my skin. My eyes scan around the room, looking over the sink, the computer, the biohazard bin, and the door, waiting as the minutes tick by as slow as molasses. My skin begins to faintly itch, all over so that I can’t figure out where I need to scratch. My fingers rub over the stiff hospital gown and pick at the loose threads, shivering under the air conditioning. After a moment, my right eye begins to twitch involuntarily and a sigh escaped my lips as I rub it.

A knock sounds on the door and Dr. Cho enters.

“Good morning,” she greets as she seats herself before the computer and clicks around. “How are you doing today?”

“I feel more uncomfortable than I’ve felt all week,” I reply honestly, my hand rubbing over my arm as a shiver seizes my spine. My head jerks to the side with the bolt of cold that jumps through me.

“I’m sorry it’s so cold,” she comments as she types something into my file. “As for the discomfort not caused by the temperature, have you been able to set up a stable situation for your treatment?”

I nod, cheeks heating at the thought of the new bond marks on my neck, still healing from last Friday. My hand rubs over Steve’s claim absentmindedly as I reply, “I’m completely covered.”

“Well,” Dr. Cho hums, “then you’ve completed the hardest part. Most fatalities in cases of touch deprivation occur because omegas refuse alpha or beta intervention, for whatever their reasons. Omegas can be incredibly stubborn.” A wry chuckle shakes her chest as she finishes her typing and turns to me. “But I’m sure you’re not unaware of that fact.”

“My friends found out and decided to help me,” I relay, vehemently against outright stating the fact that I was one of those stubborn omegas, intent on denying treatment—though she may suspect. I shift nervously on the bench, the movement accompanied by the crinkling of paper. My eyes roll internally—I’m not even sweaty, why is it sticking to me like I slathered my ass with glue?!

“Good, I see you also got a chance to have blood drawn for this appointment, we’ll talk about your results in a little bit.” She smiles and pushes the computer against the wall.

Her wheeled stool rolls over to sit before me as she adjusts her posture. She gestures to my glands, asking to make a quick inspection of each. When her hands travel to my neck, a weak growl rumbles in my throat and she pauses.

“I see,” she chirps as she retracts her hands. A happy smile crinkles the corners of her eyes as she beams at me. “Well, that certainly explains your rapid improvement. Though you’ll still be more susceptible for relapses of touch deprivation, I’m very happy for you. May I examine your marks to make sure you’re healing properly?”

“My mates are taking good care of them,” I mutter, arms crossing defensively.

She catches my gaze with a compassionate look. I sigh and drop my hands, giving her a nod of approval. She returns to close the distance and inspect my marks. A jolt of anxiety jitters up my spine, instinct simmering beneath my skin.

“Still, I want to make sure there’s no infection,” she muses as she presses down on each gland. My thighs squeeze together as heat begins to pool in my belly. “I’m sorry if this is uncomfortable, I’m well aware of the biological response.”

I shake my head, brushing off her comment and concentrate on calming down my omega who has jumped to the front of my consciousness, and wants to rip the doctor’s hands away from me and find my mates.

My _mates_ —dreamy sighs and giddy giggles still overtake me after a week of being with Steve and Bucky. I fight one back as Dr. Cho continues her examination.

She steps back and hums, “Well, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with those.”

I pull the hospital gown over my marks, still freezing cold. What I wouldn’t give for Bucky or Steve to wrap me in their arms right now. God, they’re always so warm, who’s idea was it for me to come to my appointment alone—oh, right, this genius, right here.

“Why don’t we move on to checking the rest of your glands, shall we?” She waits patiently for my response before making another move.

I nod easily, my other glands won’t cause the same instinctual reaction—I hope.

Dr. Cho hums a tune to herself, running her hands over the glands on my wrists first. She probes and inspects them, pleased with her findings. And I’m just fine, no growls or growing arousal—hooray for that.

She helps me move, then, drawing away the bottom of the hospital gown and positioning me to lie down, so she can check the glands on my inner thighs. I tense incrementally, but she just waits, still quietly humming a serene tune, until I relax back and take a deep breath.

The smile doesn’t move from her face, a friendly thing that just oozes security—she definitely picked the right vocation. Even when a brief whimper erupts from my throat as she presses on the gland in my right thigh, she keeps her pristine grin and assures me the tenderness is likely a waning symptom of my touch deprivation.

She helps me sit up and finds her rolling stool behind her, perching on the edge and clasping her hands together.

“Let’s talk about birth control, then,” she starts. She rolls back to the computer and clicks open my file, typing a few notes before turning back. “You’ve never taken anything before, not even heat suppressants. But previous gynecological exams and your newest blood tests show no barrier to you using any form you’re comfortable with. Would you like to talk about your options?”

I nod, vehemently, happy she brought up the subject.

After our first night together, Steve, Bucky, and I had a discussion about our plans for the future and it was made abundantly clear that they didn’t feel comfortable touching me—in _that_ way—until we had figured out some kind of stable protection situation. They wanted to sort out my touch deprivation first and spend some time adjusting to our new dynamic before considering bringing a baby into it—I agreed, wholeheartedly. Cue me, suggesting I start birth control. They agreed and we were all quite content to wait until my doctor’s appointment.

Until the very moment I realized that though they wouldn’t be _touching_ me, their hands would be all over. Brushes, caresses, kisses, pets, grabbing, holding, cuddling, teasing—every day.

I’m about to explode.

Their care is, in a word, intoxicating—fabulous and frustrating. Holding me on their laps as they type at their computers, working from home in their office and insisting I accompany them. Walking around the house shirtless to take advantage of opportunities for skin contact, never letting me more than an inch away from them. Bundling me between them every night as we fall asleep, heating my body with theirs until I can’t even bear to think about the thinnest sheet. It’s wonderful—and _terrible_.

Every time I see them walking through the door, it’s almost like an instant reaction now, slick coating my panties in keen anticipation for them. And they do _nothing_ with it.

They just cuddle me and snuggle me, wrapping me in blankets or in their arms. And I can feel what I do to them, their hardness pressing against the softness of my body, but nothing happens. Not even some lighthearted fooling around to take the edge off.

Don’t get me wrong, I _love_ the snuggles and cuddles and loving—absolutely thriving with it. But a girl can only take so much and I’m a hairs breadth away from my breaking point. I mean, I ask, I bargain, I _beg_ —nothing.

“Yes, I want to be protected,” I add with my nod. “I’ve been researching and I wanted to talk about the shots—since nothing has to be inserted and eventually removed with them. I’ve read that if I get the injections, it will start protecting me immediately and cover me for three years.”

Dr. Cho nods, pulling a pamphlet from the wall and opening it up for us to examine.

“You’re correct about the injection. It is a set of two shots that are injected into your rear end. However,” she adds, pointing to a section about heat suppression, “with your condition, being touch deprived, the last phase of your recovery will involve a forced heat.”

My shoulders sag, hope draining out of me. “So, then I can’t get it?”

“On the contrary,” she clarifies with a swift shake of her head, “you can have the birth control, especially if your new mates and you have decided you don’t want offspring from the forced heat—it’s recommended. But you can’t have the heat suppression until the next dosage.”

“So three years of heats?” I ask, brow furrowing. “That shouldn’t be so bad. I used to deal with my heats alone either way.” My head tilts to the side as Dr. Cho’s face strains in discomfort.

“It won’t quite be the same,” she explains. “You’re used to the heats of an unmarked omega. Those tend to be shorter, milder, and more manageable than the heat of mated omegas—whose symptoms include much more intense cramping and slick production as well as an urge to begin the breeding process. You will need to deal with the symptoms directly, whereas before you might not have felt the need to.” Her chair wheels rattle as she rolls over, tucking away the pamphlet and turning to me once more. “As for this upcoming forced heat, it will be infinitely more intense than what you’re used to.

“Adding the fact that you’ll be coming out of touch deprivation, while also being bonded, means that you will experience your heat at a very dangerous level. It will be imperative that you spend your heat with your alpha, or the consequences could be fatal for you.”

I feel the blood draining from my face, fear replacing every drop as it pounds in my head. My tongue feels heavy as I try to swallow, my mouth drying rapidly. My hands grip, vice-like, on the table beneath me.

“But don’t worry,” my doctor rushes to add. “Since you’re so newly mated, it is probable your alpha will insist on being by your side. You also have a beta, who will hopefully help in calming and placating you. You won’t be abnormally fertile for a heat, either, so the birth control will work. Your symptoms will simply require a higher level of attention, which I’m sure your mates will provide.”

My head bobs in a nod as the information sinks in. Despite the fear bubbling through me, a calm acceptance takes over.

Though my voice shakes, I ask, “And when should I expect this heat to hit?”

“Well, having looked at your test results from your blood sample, I would say you’re well out of the first phase, where you needed near constant contact for extended periods of time,” she replies with vague gestures and a contemplative tone to her voice. “For the next phase, you will still need contact with others so you don’t relapse. Just perhaps not as much. That would mean hugs and cuddles, sure, but also transitioning to smaller intimacies, like brushing against your mates, holding hands, or sitting beside them, with longer periods of non-contact between. It’s a matter of personally understanding what you need and asking for it.” She opens her hands, placing them palm up in a gesture of openness. “Think of this second phase as an introspection to understanding yourself and your needs. Listen to your body for signs of too much or too little contact.”

My fingers pluck at the bottom of the hospital gown, contemplating what it means to be on the second phase. I’m excited. Of course. I can go about my day without Steve and Bucky by my side. But that’s also part of the problem—I’ve absolutely adored the closeness they’ve treated me to. Guess I’ll have to get used to being more like an actual human being again—well, fuck.

“Touch deprivation wreaks havoc on your hormones,” she continues with a sigh, crossing her arms as she leans back in her chair, “which means you might have noticed an unpredictability with your previous heats, that your cycle’s been slowing, and, now, they’ve likely stopped altogether. This is a part of the recovery, unfortunately. As your hormones even out in this second phase, you’ll gradually start to register signs of impending heat. It could take a week, a month, a year. It all depends on your body.”

I nod, pursing my lips a bit in disappointment. A nice schedule would be the most helpful in this situation. Dr. Cho chuckles as she sees my reaction.

“Don’t worry,” she reassured me with a friendly pat on my knee, “we’ll keep having fairly consistent appointments as you keep recovering. The blood tests might be able to more accurately gauge when your heat will hit. Right now, I can just predict it won’t be quite so soon.” She stands and claps her hands together. “Shall we get you all ready with your birth control?”

“Yes, please,” I respond with a decisive nod, brushing aside my worries—there’s nothing I can do about it now.

Dr. Cho leaves the room, telling me I can redress, as long as she’ll be able to get to my butt with my clothes on—in not such crude terms. The door clicks shut behind her, and I jump up to start changing. I am more than ready to be out of this stupid, scratchy, drafty gown.

I pull my shirt over my head, folding the high turtleneck down as it pulls on my face. My tights remain on the chair as I pull on my skirt and my cloth petticoat—I like how it looks and it’s warm, dammit. My feet shift on the linoleum floors as I wait for my doctor to return—I am absolutely _done_ with that crinkly paper—and before five minutes pass, she returns with a syringe.

“Now, this is only the first shot,” she explains, uncapping the needle. “Like I said before, it will be birth control, but, once your hormones even out after the upcoming forced heat, you should experience your heats regularly. Otherwise, if you think something is irregular or your omega notices something amiss, you can call here or your nearest heat clinic for help, alright?”

I nod. Dr. Cho directs me to bend over the bench and pull my skirt up so she can get to my posterior. The shot takes all of a minute. She places the bandage over the injection site and throws away the needle as I straighten up and rub the area through my skirt.

“So now there’s no chance of babies?” I ask as I grab my tights from the chair and fiddle with them in my hands.

“Very little,” she answers, “but there’s still that small percentage, so you still might choose to be careful with other contraceptive measures. Also, the shot does not protect against STIs, so if there’s any chance of disease, you should wear a condom. But you’re good to go, as it were, as soon as you’re ready.”

A grumbling growl rolls in my throat at her mention of risks. Steve and Bucky are my alpha and beta— _mine_ —and we’ve only ever been with each other. They’ve checked that they’re clean, I’m clean. There is no one else.

My reaction registers and my face flushes with embarrassment. I rub my hand over my forehead, calming down—sweet Jesus, that was a moment.

“I know, I just have to say it,” she assures as she folds her hands together at her front. “Anything else?”

I shake my head and she bids me a breezy goodbye and leaves the room. After yanking up my tights, securing my shoes to my feet, and throwing on my coat, I grab my purse and walk out the door.

A gloomy, cold morning greets me as I emerge from the hospital building. My smile stretches my lips as I breathe in the crisp air and relish in the grey weather, my favorite. My feet practically dance down the sidewalk as I go, heading back home as quick as I can.

We officially moved my stuff into Steve and Bucky’s brownstone in a rush last weekend and I am buzzing to get back. My nest, my boys—why would I want to be anywhere else?

My nails scratch an itch just above my scent gland and I take a moment to press down—just to feel that little tingle of pleasure that rushes through my blood. A giggle, naughty and giddy, escapes as my eyes watch my feet, biting my lip and feeling that guilty joy.

As I walk, my mind drifts to my mates, wondering if they’re out of bed yet. It is mid-morning, technically past the acceptable time for people to still be lounging in bed, but still. Each step closer to my street has me praying that maybe Bucky and Steve will still be in bed waiting for me, or at least on the couch willing to cuddle. I want their touch, my skin craving it—and I would not be averse to one of them, or ideally both, utterly ruining me before lunch.

*

“Well, it’s about damn time,” Tony bellows as the door to The Tower closes behind us. He’s standing by our usual table, raising his voice to be heard across the bar and the music—it’s quite the impressive feat actually. “We were about to send out a search party for you all. I think it’s a record.”

As we get closer, he turns to the other bodies at the table, our other friends who are looking at the three of us with welcoming smiles. My hand waves at them, a bright smile on my face in response.

“I mean, it’s expected from you two,” Tony continues, gesturing between Steve and Bucky, “but you,” his finger points accusingly, “I expected better from you, young lady.”

I sigh, rolling my eyes, pulling off my scarf, and unbuttoning my coat. Bucky excuses himself to get us our drinks and Steve sits.

“Explanation? Anyone?” Tony asks, his flair for the dramatic showing as he legitimately waits for an answer.

“Tony, give it a rest,” Steve implores, already feeling that exhaustion that comes from dealing with his friend, though his smile doesn’t fade.

I laugh a bit at the other alpha’s antics, missing his presence this last week. Who knew that recovering from touch deprivation and a new bond would unlock a whole, vast world of sentiment? Before I wasn’t exactly a robot, but now I’m fighting an urge to throw myself over the table and bundle Tony up in my arms. I won’t, but the inclination is there.

Steve wouldn’t like it, and I refuse to upset him right now. He’s been keeping me close, secured away for the last week—an alpha thing, I don’t question it. It’s been nice. No, that isn’t quite right—it’s been sublime, to be guarded and sequestered like the most precious treasure. Though it’s nice to be out, now, too, I know somewhere, deep down, it’s hard for him.

My coat drapes over my shoulders, sagging toward the floor as I shrug it off. Quickly checking the positioning of my off-the-shoulder sweater, I drape my coat and scarf over the hook by our booth and look around for a seat.

The chorus of clanking drink glasses onto the table catches my attention and I look up at the many shocked faces staring at me—well, the marks on me. We stare at each other in silence for a good minute until Steve, with a grumble, pulls me down to sit in his lap.

I go willingly, sitting gingerly on him with a happy coo, nuzzling into my alpha’s neck and drinking in his scent, resisting the urge to let my tongue peek out for a discreet taste—and oh boy, does it test my self control, I deserve an award. His muscles twitch, but he otherwise remains unyielding at the challenge his alpha senses from our friends.

“You—you—she— _you_ ,” Tony says, stuttering until he lands on a tone full of accusation toward Steve.

“Finally,” Bruce sighs with a happy smile. “Congratulations to all three of you.” He raises his glass with a pleased smile before drinking.

Thor, Wanda, and Clint do the same. And Clint discreetly slips Wanda some folded bills which she pockets with a triumphant smile. Natasha remains motionless, a blank mask hiding her thoughts. Tony just slumps, a look of betrayal on his face.

“Brucie,” Tony whines as he takes his seat— _finally_. “They’ve tainted our sweet, shy little omega—just _look_ at her.”

A scoff barks out of me—I’m nowhere near little, taller than he is—but it’s overshadowed immediately by the fierce growl from Steve’s throat. My muscles tense at the sound.

Instantly, I lean further into my alpha exuding calmness, wrapping him in my arms with one hand resting on his back and the other resting on his neck, tracing my fingers over the skin in a soothing gesture. His pulse pounds like thunder, but steadies under my caresses.

Bucky returns as I calm Steve, placing our drinks on the table and eyeing the two of us curiously. Exchanging a glance with Steve, his gaze darkens as he steps toward us, his hand clenching in a fist at his side.

“I do not think that chair can hold another body,” Wanda comments with a snicker, pushing another chair toward Bucky with her foot. The rising tension breaks at her observation, my responding laugh setting my mates at ease as their bodies relax.

Steve sends an affectionate glance in Bucky’s direction, holding out a hand for his beta to hold. I smile over at him and lift my legs to sit in his lap. Bucky’s hands immediately hold on, keeping me balanced by scooting as close to Steve as he can.

“Does this mean I finally get to hug you?” Thor asks after a calm moment, eyes shining with eagerness.

I laugh, burying my face in Steve’s neck as he tenses minutely.

“Yes, Thor,” I reply with a bright smile. “I think I would really like that.”

Bucky glares at the tall, muscle-bound alpha, curling forward over my legs protectively and ready to pounce. Steve’s hold tighten, pressing me closer to his chest and angling us minutely away.

“As soon as Steve and Bucky feel comfortable enough to allow you to,” I amend, reaching out a hand to trace over patches of their exposed skin, trying to make them truly relax, though I know it’s a lost cause. Our friends aren’t helping. And, to be honest, I’m not really complaining—at all.

Thor lifts his glass with a hearty ‘huzzah!’ and drinks the dregs of beer at the bottom. A chorus of laughter sputters around the table as Thor leaves in pursuit of another pint of his favorite ale.

“I can’t believe they roped you into their tardy club. They’re such a bad influence. I thought you were better,” Tony comments, petulance taking over his tone. “I mean really, what was so important that you had to arrive to our shindig late?”

I shift uncomfortably in my position on Steve’s lap, warmth crawling up my chest toward my cheeks.

Steve’s smirk is something I can _feel_ spread across his face without even looking. I flick his chest in admonishment, though I know he barely even feels it. An irritated growl reverberates in my throat as my eyes glance to him and then to Bucky.

And as soon I see the look on my beta’s faces—the desire burning bright in my direction—a tingle shoots down my spine and my growl cuts off. I swallow it down and tear my gaze away.

We really hadn’t meant to be late. I was determined, now that I was their omega, that Steve and Bucky would be punctual for our weekly get-together. It wasn’t fair to keep our friends waiting, and I had never been late for anything in my life.

But…

*

The door to the brownstone opens with a waft of scent that immediately relaxes my muscles and pulls me in. I shut the door, blocking out the chilly breeze and unbutton my coat, eyes dancing around and looking for my boys.

“How was your appointment?” Steve asks, walking down the stairs. He reaches to lock the door at my back as he waits for my answer.

And as soon as my shoes are off and sitting to the side, he drags my body to his, smelling me for signs of distress and absolutely marinating me in his scent. His nose presses to his mark over my shirt, drawing deep lungfuls before he swipes his tongue over the fabric. But even that light pressure. God, my legs wobble and I lean on him for strength.

“No fair,” I whine, mind fuzzy from the swirling fragrance of coffee and charcoal—making me feel all kinds of ways.

My hands reach down, pulling at the hem of his shirt, rucking it up just enough so I can shove my hands beneath the fabric, nails scratching lightly at the trail of hair leading toward his belt. He’s so damn warm, his muscles jumping under my fingers and tensing as I explore. Teeth biting my bottom lip, I gaze up at my alpha, eyes sparking with desire.

“Sweetheart, your appointment,” Steve insists, stilling my hands in the grasp of his own and pulling his face away to look into my eyes.

“Dr. Cho says I’m improving rapidly, says I’m in the second phase of recovery,” I ramble off, trying to keep my head straight as my eyes focus in on the shiny redness of his lips. “She said the third phase is a forced heat, so I should look for signs and make sure you’re with me when it hits. I got the birth control injection, but not the accompanying one for heat suppression. Can’t get that for three years, now.” I try to tug my hands away, but Steve keeps them secure. My lungs pull in a deep breath, scenting him again. The faint whiff of leather sends a jolt of arousal straight to my core. “God, you smell like Bucky, too.”

Steve’s hands release me, cupping my face and holding my gaze, “Is that all?”

My head bobs in a nod and my alpha smiles.

“Good girl,” he coos, pressing his lips to mine.

His hands drift from my cheeks, wrapping around my neck, his thumbs resting on my jaw. He tilts my head, guiding my mouth as it meshes with his. Brief tastes of Bucky greet me on Steve’s tongue, pieces clicking together like a puzzle— _Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ_ , they were making out while I was gone. And just the thought sets my body in a spiral of need, images flashing of their tongues dancing, teeth nipping, and throaty moans. They’re trying to kill me.

Urgency takes over me, wanting to feel his skin against mine. It buzzes in my head and extracts a whimper as I press my body closer. Steve keeps me steady, a soft purr admonishing me through languid kisses and unhurried caresses. I melt completely and the urgency evaporates—poof, it just vanishes, in an instant.

A phone buzzes and rings, breaking us apart. A low, irritated grumble rolls in Steve’s chest as he fishes it out of his pocket and releases his hold on me. I stumble a step or two toward him, finding my footing as we disengage—and the little shit _smirks_ before looking to his phone. He curses under his breath and glares at the device as he reads.

“Is that what you wore out?” Bucky asks from down the hall, emerging from the kitchen.

My body leans to glimpse my beta around Steve’s figure. A bright smile covers my face as I see him, cup of coffee in hand and puffy lips. But then his question registers.

I look down, hands brushing over the fabric of my outfit, as I reply, “Yes?”

Something dark, acrid burns in my nose—rotting and pungent. My eyes snap to Bucky, a tempestuous look of displeasure on his face as he sets his mug down.

“Do you not like it?” I ask, twisting my body left and right to try to catch what he’s seeing.

His footsteps thunder toward me, grabbing at my shirt, ripping it out of my skirt’s waistband. Shock courses through me, stunning any thought of a reaction.

Granted, in other circumstances, this would have been _brilliant_ —my beta ordering me to undress, ready to throw me straight into pleasure. I would welcome that with open arms and a ‘yes please, thank you very much.’ But that’s not this.

I comply hesitantly, helping him tug off the—apparently—offensive garment. He flings it behind him and plants his hands on my hips, pulling me close until he can bury his nose in his mark with a rumbling snarl.

His lips brush over my scent gland as he starts mumbling into my neck, the Russian syllables lilting over my skin. My hand tentatively snakes it’s way up his back and into his hair, recognizing the toxic smell at last—distress. My mind scrambles for an explanation, brow drawing tight as I think to what I could have done.

Steve presses into Bucky from the back until he’s sandwiched between us, safe and warm. My eyes dart to our alpha, questions burning in my glance.

“It’s okay, Bucky,” he assures, running his palms up and down the beta’s abdomen. His nose buries into Bucky’s neck, trying to capture his attention. “It’s okay.”

Bucky’s hands clutch me tighter, wrapping around my back and digging painfully into my skin. A whimper chokes in my throat and I swallow it down, trying to remain calm.

Steve sighs and looks to me, agony flickering in his gaze as he relays, “he’s been having a hard time since we marked you.”

If I thought I was stunned before, I reach a whole new level—bombarded with confusion and guilt and anguish. My thoughts don’t spiral, they _plummet_ , and my free hand begins to press against Bucky’s chest to let me go.

Steve’s eyes widen as he insists, “no, no, no, not like that. Sweetheart, we know we want you, forever. You’re ours. That will never change.”

His hand sweeps up, cradling my skull as my eyes blur with tears. But I try to listen, I do, I really do. Because he’s offering an explanation.

Steve puts it simply, “You haven’t marked us.” His eyes fall to Bucky, who has yet to resurface from my neck. “And you went out on your own today—with our marks covered, hidden. I think it just hit a little too close.” He looks back to me, lips pulled in a frown. “We love you, and we don’t want to pressure you, but our instincts are screaming at us to stake another claim on you until you claim us back.” He sighs, a desolate sound. “It’s just difficult to know that you still might choose someone else.”

My brow narrows as I process the information. Mouth opening and closing like a fish, I search for the right thing to say, but all I come up with is, “you should have told me.”

And then Steve’s phone buzzes again.

“Fuck,” he curses at the screen. ”Fury needs me on a conference call, right now.” He looks to me, eyes beseeching. I nod, understanding alighting on my face.

“Go, you and I can have this discussion later,” I insist quietly.

Steve leans, placing a kiss on Bucky’s mark before walking down the hallway and closing himself in his office.

For a moment, I stand still, letting Bucky cling to me, buried in my neck. But after that moment passes, I weave my fingers into his hair, scratching over his scalp and pulling his head away.

Watery eyes stare back at me, my own welling with tears as I see the devastation on his face. I sniff them away as best I can and press kisses to his cheeks, his forehead, his nose.

Breathing deeply, I say, “Go on up to our den, alright? I’ll go to the bedroom and change, then we can talk about this.”

He doesn’t nod or acknowledge my idea, but turns and trudges up the stairs. My heart breaks at the dejected look that paints my beta’s face. I take a moment to breathe and compose myself, grabbing my turtleneck off the floor and placing his coffee mug back in the kitchen, before climbing the stairs.

Turning to the master bedroom, I don’t even glance in the direction of the den, hoping Bucky will be there and not avoiding me in another room.

Walking into our closet, I look at my clothes, running my hand over the fabrics and pulling options to change into. My mind wanders as I search, trying to decipher Bucky’s reaction and how, as a pack, we’re going to deal with this. I mean, obviously, I’m going to stake my claim and mark the hell out of those boys. But what concerns me is the lack of communication. They marked me a _week_ ago, and this has been festering ever since.

An off-the-shoulder sweater, a boatneck dress, and a square neck blouse find their way onto the bed, laid out over the duvet. I strip my tights, my skirt, my petticoat and lay them beside my options, ready to decide on what to wear later. Standing in my underwear and bra, I shiver in the coolness of the house.

But I leave our bedroom to find my beta, pausing to grab a blanket from my nesting room to keep me warm. I wrap it around my shoulders and bundle myself just right so I can still walk, and continue on my way.

Bucky sits in the den, like I asked, but doesn’t even look up when I enter the room. His head tilts back to the ceiling, eyes squeezed tight.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, voice breaking over the words. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Yes, you do,” I reply gently, staying in the doorway to the room.

His face pinches in pain and he finally takes a look at me. An empty chuckle shakes his chest as he scans me from head to toe. Stepping into the room, I walk over to stand before him. Looking down at him, he waits for a reaction, shifting in his seat and biting his lip as anxiety overtakes him.

My hands release the ends of the blanket, keeping it draped over my shoulders but exposing my state of undress underneath. Bucky gapes at me, drinking in the sight of my body—nothing he hasn’t seen, explored, before.

“Babydoll,” he croaks, licking his lips, “that’s not—you don’t have to.” His hands clench on his thighs, and he forces his gaze away. His jaw ticks as he waits on me.

“I set out some outfits on the bed,” I reply, smoothly. “You can help me decide what to wear, later.”

My knee plants itself on the couch cushion, pressed to the outside of his thigh. I do the same with my other knee, straddling him. He moves his hands to his side, a debate raging in his eyes before resting them on my legs.

I lower myself into his lap and wrap the blanket around us, cocooning us in its warmth.

“But first, we need to talk,” I urge. As he shakes his head in denial, I insist, “Yes, Bucky, we do. Because there are things I haven’t said and things you haven’t said, and they’ve hurt us. So we’re gonna talk now.”

Bucky sighs, a defeated sound and nods. His body becomes concrete, pulled tight and muscles solid with trepidation. He waits for me like a child waiting for chastisement. My brow draws together with sorrow before I lean forward and peck a kiss to his lips. He doesn’t respond in any way—and doesn’t that just make my breath hitch with heartbreak.

“You should have told me how you were feeling,” I start, softly. My hands reach up to rest on his shoulders, rubbing at the muscles—avoiding his scent glands—to try to relax him from his tense position. “We need to communicate with each other. The two of you have been so focused on me and my touch deprivation, you forgot to tell me about your need for me to mark you.”

“We want you to get better,” he responds, catching my gaze. His brow tilts as he looks at me. “I hate to see you hurting.”

“I hate to see you hurting, too,” I insist.

We sit in silence for a minute, letting our words sink in and process. My hands smooth over his shoulders, down his biceps. My eyes travel to his left arm as my hand caresses it.

“I remember when we were in our first year at college, and you got into that horrible accident,” I reveal, pushing the short sleeve of his shirt over his bicep and up to his shoulder. “When Steve told me, I couldn’t breathe. My roommate, Claire, had to calm me down because I began hyperventilating. Knowing you were in the hospital, arm torn to shreds, I could hardly stand it.” Tears well in my eyes as I trace the barely-there scars on his skin. “They’re so faint, I hardly ever notice them anymore, but when I do, I’m thrown right back.”

Bucky watches my hand as I trace over his skin, the scars faded with age and excellent care—there are perks to having genius best friends. He picks up my hand, kissing my fingers. When he releases them, I lean down and plant a kiss on his shoulder and push down his sleeve.

“I’m sorry I put you through that,” he intones, regret lacing his words. “Steve never told me that happened to you.”

“I never told him,” I brush off, “but that’s not the point.” I shake my head and grasp his face with my hands. “The point is that I care about you. I _love_ you and I don’t want you to suffer. So you have to tell me these things.”

“I don’t want you to choose anyone else,” Bucky admits, quickly, the words bubbling up and out of him. His fingers brush over the marks on my neck, featherlight. “I know you say you love us and that you let us mark you, but you still have a choice. We haven’t completed the bond. If you wanted to break our claim for someone better, you could.” He sniffs and brushes a hand over his eyes, wiping away the tears gathering there. “And it’s tearing me up inside. This,” he gestures to his left arm, “the accident was nothing compared to thinking that you might not stay.” Even as a tear drips down his cheek, Bucky gazes at me, his pain raw and ravaged for me to see.

Wiping his cheeks, I pull a shaky breath into my lungs. Back and forth my mind volleys on sharing the truth I didn’t think I would ever have to. But, looking at my beta, though it might hurt him more, I know I don’t have a choice—he will always think that I was somehow coerced, that I might want something different, even if I mark him.

My chin drops to my chest, my eyes focusing on the design on the front of Bucky’s shirt. My fingers absently trace over the faded wings of the logo. Pulling air deep into my lungs, I prepare and brace myself for the backlash.

“I wasn’t going to do anything,” I confess, whispering only loud enough so he will hear.

My head raises, leveling my apprehensive gaze with his confused one for a brief minute. His head tilts to the side, trying to figure out what I’m saying, but he won’t understand until I share the entirety of it.

I continue, locking my gaze on his mouth so I won’t have to see his eyes, “I said I was going to the heat clinic, to set up an appointment for my treatment—I was lying.” His lips part, the realization washing over him as I look up for a millisecond. My eyes dart back down and catch the twitch in his cheek, his jaw clenching. “Natasha wanted to help.” At the mention of the our alpha friend, Bucky’s hands grip my thighs, a miserable whimper echoing in his chest. I shush him briefly, closing my eyes and resting my forehead against his to whisper, “I wasn’t going to let her. I swear. It was only ever going to be you and Steve, no one else.”

Bucky breathes deeply, brushing his nose against my cheek. Tears well in my eyes, my throat swelling with emotion as I wait for the truth to become clear.

“If we hadn’t forced you to tell us, you wouldn’t have said anything,” Bucky objects, talking out loud as he pieces it all together. “You kept brushing us off all night, trying to circumvent the truth, insisting there was nothing we could do, trying to get away from us. You thought we _didn’t want_ you.”

At my nod, skin brushing his, the tears in my eyes spill over and streak down my cheeks. A choked cry of pain reverberates from his chest as I lay myself—my soul—bare.

Bucky’s hands cradle my head dragging his lips over my face in rapid kisses, a chant of “no, no, no, no,” falling from his mouth. He pulls back, shaking his head, eyes misting over as he swallows hard. “You’re not allowed—don’t ever—” He cuts off on a sob, enveloping me in his arms and pulling me close.

“I never really wanted anyone else to touch me or get too close because it was like they were trespassing or something,” I disclose, quietly as we sit together. Bucky’s breath shudders through him and I rub a hand on his chest to help him calm. “It didn’t feel right, without you guys. So you see,” I say, looking into Bucky’s eyes with a sympathetic smile, “for me, there’s no one but the two of you.”

His head bobs, a continuous nod, until he surges forward to capture my lips and kisses me like a dehydrated man in search of water. One hand wraps around my neck, pressing on my nape and making me shudder with delight.

Bucky groans, licking into my mouth to explore every crevice and trying to pull me closer than humanly possible with his hand on my waist, grasping at me in desperation. I get lost in his scent, parting for breath only to lap at the gland in his neck, thirsting for the taste of him on my tongue.

But he keeps bringing me back to his lips, molding them together, with light nips and tangled tongues. I do my best—I learned _a lot_ about kissing during week one of touch deprivation recovery—but I’m still learning.

Bucky breaks away after an eternity sipping sighs and moans from my mouth. My lips tingle, practically vibrate, after his attentions and an elated smile pulls them taut. He kisses a path to down my neck, breathing heavily on his mark.

“I need to mark you, I don’t think I can stop myself,” he murmurs, scenting me heavily, but waiting for permission.

I draw back slightly, looking down at him. “Whatever you need, however you need,” I consent.

And his teeth are on me, piercing a new mark into my gland, re-claiming me and pressing even deeper than before. My eyes roll in the back of my head as I’m thrust onto a knife’s edge of pain and pleasure, a cry of surprise choking from me.

He moves along the rest of my neck, sucking and biting my flesh and gasping for more. His eyes travel down my body and I stand up, stripping away the last vestiges of clothing covering me, the blanket somehow staying on my shoulders as I move. Barely am I out of them before he scoops me back astride his lap and resumes, roaming over my chest and shoulders with his mouth, fingers gliding over every patch of skin they can reach. I wrap us up again, cocooning us together.

Like a trail of gunpowder sparked to life, my body thrums in desire, wanting nothing more than for Bucky to consume all of me until I explode. Eager whines trill in my throat as I cling to Bucky’s head, hands tangled in his hair. His teeth bite a mark on my breast and my breath hitches. His tongues soothes over my skin, as he draw a trail over each new bruise, sucking them darker before returning to my lips.

His breath blows ragged against my neck as he places his forehead against my jaw. One hand remains on my hip, clutching me tight to him, the other dances over me, pressing on the red hickeys he placed on my skin until I hum and shift.

“Bucky,” I mewl, the plea saccharine on my tongue.

My body literally drips with lust, the desire to grind my hips growing. His member hardens beneath me, pressing between my thighs—the heat of him, _God_. The smell of our lust oozes around us, heady and trapped in the fibers of the blanket.

His fingers continue to trace my chest, before his hand cups my breast and begins to knead my flesh. I sigh and lean into his touch. Bucky plays with me, tweaking my nipple and shifting his attention to the other one. But it’s not enough. A whimper works its way out of my throat.

“I got you, babydoll, I got you,” he promises as his fingers drift down my torso, and between my thighs.

His fingers seek my clit, swirling in the wetness that leaks from me. Slow, needy circles around that little button of nerves that send sparks of arousal singing through my veins. Drifting from my entrance for more slick before concentrating all his efforts of shattering me apart.

Bucky watches, drawing away and keeping his focus on my face. As I lean to kiss him, he denies me, moving his hand from my waist to wrap around my neck.

“I need to see you, to hear you,” he grunts, fingers still moving. “I need more of you, forever.”

My eyes lock onto his lips, parted, breath panting from his lungs. My head bobs in understanding, words wiped from my mind and unobtainable. Sparks shoot down my spine, like a crackling fire. My orgasm builds quickly, spurred on by a week of abstinence and longing, and crashes over me, my head falling back on my shoulders, but supported by his hand.

And he doesn’t stop.

“More,” he barks as a plea, fingers moving to dance over my entrance.

“Yes,” I gasp.

My eyes widen in surprise as he parts me with two of his fingers. The twinge of pain startles me, still not used to the initial penetration, a hiss sounding from my lips. Bucky keeps his eyes on me, slowing his advance until I nod and he begins plunging his fingers into me steadily.

He rips a moaning gasp from my lungs as he draws his fingers over a sensitive spot within my walls. A smirk spreads on his lips as he concentrates his efforts on it, his palm grinding against my clit and adding another finger to stretch me. A whimper catches in my throat as my head shakes, but Bucky shushes me, cooing a pleasant purr in his chest. I settle, letting the sensation of his insistent fingers and lusty need wash over me. My core clenches tight around his fingers, desire throbbing like bubbling lava flowing through my veins, the coil tightening.

When it snaps, my lips part on a cry of Bucky’s name, collapsing forward, hips bucking away from his touch as he soothes me through my climax with his fingers. And he keeps touching, his hand working to try to drag me once more toward that delicious precipice.

“No more,” I mumble, hand reaching down to grab his wrist, trying to pull it away. “I want you.”

His hand reluctantly retracts, from the apex of my thighs rising to his lips. He devours the slick clinging to his fingers, moans and grunts escaping his mouth between licks. His hips thrust up, pressing his trapped cock against me.

My eyes sparkle with a dozy mischief as my body begins to hum again with a soft desire and press down, feeling him strain and twitch through the fabric of his jeans. Bucky’s eyes snap to me, his hand darting to my waist.

I sigh, my hands reaching forward and shoving his shirt over his head. My beta eagerly complies, ripping it from his body and tossing it away. His hands hurry to unfasten his jeans, finger fumbling with his belt and then unbuttoning them. We work together, pushing his jeans and briefs down his leg until I’m perched above him.

My arousal drips from me, still, as my lower lips hover over his member, barely kissing his tip. Bucky’s hands grip my hips, urging me down, begging for contact. But I remain firm in my position.

Hands lacing into his hair, I tilt his head back until our gazes lock. I wait. Our breaths even out as we stare into each other’s eyes.

“I love you,” I pronounce definitively.

My hips finally lower with the urging of Bucky’s grasp, his hand moving to guide himself into me. My mouth drops open with a gasp as the head pops in, but our gaze stays connected as I sink down. The feel of him, stretching me wide and taking up all the space inside me, it’s spectacular.

I take my time, descending down his length until I sit flush to his lap. My eyes flutter shut for a minute as I give myself a moment to adjust, for the twinge of discomfort to subside. Bucky’s hand curves around my hip, finger seeking that little nub of my sex to help me. With his fingers drenched in my slick, he plays with me until the tension leaks from my body and I can bask in the contentedness of the moment. My walls pulse around him but I stay still, despite the urge to begin moving.

Drawing a deep breath into my lungs, I open my eyes and look to my beta, “I’m never gonna leave you. I will always, _always_ choose you and Steve.”

Bucky’s hands cup my ass, a grunt of surprise on his lips, as I buck my hips. Starting a rhythm, he helps me move—up, down, around, rocking as shivers jolt down my spine.

Our eyes stay locked as I watch my beta, determined to plunge him headfirst into a divine realm of ecstasy. Knowing my skills are not practiced, naïve and uneducated as I am in acts of sex and making love, I rely on what I’ve been told in whispered conversations and on reliable online platforms.

The natural undulations of my body turn into swirls and grinds, muscles clenching and relaxing, delicious friction building. His mouth hangs open, gaping with his panting breaths as he watches me move—the sounds he makes, _fuck_.

I dip my forehead, resting against his and breathing in the air pushed from his lungs. Whimpers and moans, an occasional slap of skin, and euphoric exaltations surround us. My hips keep moving, scrawling words of devotion—a never ending love note—with each gyration of my body.

My hand explores, snaking down my stomach and between my thighs, feeling our connection with my fingertips, the base of my beta’s cock. Bucky’s hips thrust up into me. I gasp. A needy whine rolls my throat as he does it again, and again, and again.

His grip on my waist tightens and his teeth clench, hissing out his breath, signaling his imminent climax. I smile, even as my leg muscles strain, wanting to see every twitch of his gorgeous face. His hips keeps thrusting, smooth even motions that shake me down to my bones.

“You gotta cum with me,” he pleads, tracing his hand down to my center and petting delicately on my sensitive clit. I nod, jumping from his touch, almost too overwhelmed by it.

Closer and closer we progress toward our release, muscles tightening, rhythm stuttering. And my teeth _ache_. A pulsing throb starting in my gums, begging for relief.

My head falls, burying in the juncture of his neck as my body begins to give way to exhaustion. My thighs cramp, but I keep my hips grinding, unable to stop. My core clutches at him, drawing him deeper.

I drag his scent into my lungs, his unmarked gland pressed to my nose. My mouth waters as cool rain and smooth leather calms the ache within me. Teeth pressing on his skin, my tongue licks out. Bucky shouts a moan, fingers holding tight enough to bruise.

I croon his name into his skin, placing a kiss on his neck. Tighter and tighter the coil winds. And then I bite, plunging my teeth into his gland, breaking his skin and rocketing the two of us into orgasmic bliss. Bucky grunts and comes deep within me, warmth shooting through my body. My vision blurs white at the taste of him, his blood, trickles through my mouth. My tongue swipes at every drop, unwilling to waste even the smallest amount.

We breathe heavily as I pull away my teeth from his neck, tongue caring for the bite mark that claims this beta as mine. A mumbled chorus of “yours, yours, yours” spills from his lips with giddy disbelief. Bucky’s body melts like liquid as a dopey smile spreads over his lips.

And a strange, uncomfortable pull catches my attention, my core clamping around Bucky’s member, the feeling of fullness more fixed. My hips sway, wanting to part from his. His eyes widen and his fingers grip me, keeping me still.

Dawning realization strikes down on me like a lightning bolt.

“Did you just—did you just _knot_ me?” I ask, eyes widened with nervousness. A panicked whimper reverberates in my throat.

“It’s alright, you’re alright,” Bucky soothes, sitting straighter and pulling my upper body flush to his. “I’m so sorry I didn’t warn you. This happened when Steve claimed me, too. But without an omega to help through heat, it’s hasn’t happened since—completely slipped my mind. It’ll pass in five minutes. Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.” The surprised tension leaks from me as I nod.

We cuddle in silence while we wait for his knot to go down. His fingers run up and down my spine, caresses that distract from the intrusion in my body. And—don’t get me wrong—the knot isn’t painful, just unexpected and peculiar. Sexual education in high school is bogus, so it’s no surprise they didn’t teach us about this. I mean, when I was in school, they still separated omegas from alphas and betas for sex ed, and they only really covered topics involving sexual health during heats. The rest that I knew, I had to learn on my own, online. But I’d never read about knotting caused by claiming bites. Apparently, it’s a thing, though. Christ, I hope they improved that shit for more recent generations.

Bucky’s knot deflates, his length slipping out of me as he shifts our position. The sticky slickness of our releases trickles from me to coat the top of my thighs. Through the mild disgust of bodily fluid flowing out of me, a sigh blows past my lips, contented and peaceful.

My back finds the couch as Bucky drapes his body over mine, laying atop me and crushing me into the cushion. A happy mewl trills in my throat as I wrap my arms around his shoulders and pull him closer, wanting every ounce of his weight pinning me in place and making me feel protected. His hands work to cover us in my blanket, the fabric absolutely saturated in our scent. That thing is _definitely_ going back in my nest after this.

Warm and satisfied, my mind starts to drift. My finger’s massage up Bucky’s neck, reaching to scratch at his scalp and play with the strands of his hair. He hums into my neck, burying his face against my sore scent gland.

“Well, what do we have here?”

My eyes lazily find the doorway where Steve stands, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest. A weary smile spreads over my lips, happy to see my alpha. I hold out a limp hand, beckoning him to join us. Bucky doesn’t move, but grumbles into my neck.

“Because,” Steve continues with a smirk, “I know it’s not my very considerate beta and omega interrupting my conference call with sex noises and the scent of their coupling, making me harder than _steel_ while I’m talking to my boss and some very important clients.” His head tilts to the side, face bemused and eyes dark.

Heat crawls up my chest, pinking my cheeks. My hand drops as I suck in a deep breath through my teeth. My intention was not to interfere with Steve’s work, nor was it to end up having sex with Bucky. Yet here I am, blissed out under my beta and apparently stinking up the whole house.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” I mumble, a pout on my lips.

With another grumble, Bucky pushes himself to his feet. I whine, still craving the heat and weight of his body. But my beta just holds out his hand in a gesture for me to wait. His hips sway as he struts, still completely nude—and sweet Jesus, that’s a sight—over to the doorway and presses against our alpha.

I roll onto my stomach for a better angle to see. The muscles in Steve’s cheeks twitch as he grits his teeth. Bucky turns with a wink and pulls Steve by his belt buckle over to the couch. Smoldering fire washes over my body, eyes curious and intent on the sight before me. Bucky bites his lips as he directs Steve to sit.

My eyes flick between the two of them as Steve follows the direction. I press my body close to his, running my fingertips over his shoulders as my legs splay out behind me.

“We really are sorry, alpha,” Bucky croons with a mischievous grin—the liar. “Our omega and I were just talking, and one thing led to another, and now I’ve got a brand new claiming bite.” He sweeps his hair completely out of the way. Pink and tender, the mark stands out against his tanned skin.

“Is that right, sweetheart?” Steve asks, his eyes glued to his beta’s neck. Pupils blown wide, his irises a thin ring of blue.

I nod, yipping in surprise as Steve’s hand snakes around my waist, pulling me flush against him.

“Good girl,” he mumbles, finally turning his head and scenting deeply at my neck.

A needy whimper breaks the silence that follows—and I honestly don’t know who makes it. But Bucky’s slotted himself between Steve’s thighs, nuzzling the thickness of our alpha’s cock and working on his belt buckle. Steve’s face remains buried in my neck, though he clutches one hand in each of our hair, pulling the two of us closer to him. And I’m just reveling in the sight of my two boys giving in to each other.

Steve’s lust coats the three of us like a thick fog. And then his head drops back with a loud groan. My eyes flash to Bucky who swallows down Steve’s length. He winks up at me and I can’t decide which is a better sight—Bucky absolutely drooling over Steve or Steve with his head thrown back in ecstasy.

Bucky’s head bobs around our alpha and I turn my attention to the blonde man receiving his pleasure. My hands rip at his shirt until it leaves his torso open for me to explore. Bucky, clearly liking my idea, pauses his ministrations to tug Steve’s bottoms off and tosses them across the room.

My attention turns to the vast expanse of Steve’s muscled chest. My fingers graze over his course chest hair, over his nipples until I can tweak them gently between my fingers. My fingers find the little trail of hair leading down toward where Bucky’s attached his mouth and I rake my nails back up until I see stark red scratch lines against his pale skin.

“So pretty,” I mutter, resting my head against my alpha’s neck. “I wonder if my bite mark will be quite so red on your neck.”

Steve’ grunts, his hips bucking into our beta’s throat. My eyes dart to Bucky as he kisses Steve’s tip, swiping away the bead of precum. I whine, craving a taste.

“Omega,” Steve grumbles, straining to form his words, “You can’t talk like that.”

“Which means you should definitely talk like that,” Bucky interjects, stroking our alpha’s member once, twice, thrice and then swallowing him down to the root.

Steve hisses and curls over Bucky’s form, hands clenched in brown locks, before stretching back on the cushions. Catching Bucky’s eye, he smiles around his mouthful, eyes twinkling, and I bite my bottom lip, worrying my teeth over it.

“Bucky takes you so well,” I comment, letting my words form and spill over my lips. “But I wanna taste you, Steve, you think he would let me have a taste, just a little one?”

Steve groans, guttural and shaky, in response. A thrill shoots through me. My eyes land on his neck.

“Maybe I’ll just sink my teeth into you,” I muse, running my finger over his unmarked scent gland, “right here. And then I won’t have to deprive Bucky of his treat. He was so good for me, Steve. God, I love him so much—love you so much, it aches.”

I trace my nose against the stretched column of Steve’s throat. Feel his pumping pulse, heightened with arousal. I card my fingers through his hair, jerking his head to the side so I have all the access I need in order to make my claim.

Tilting my head just a smidge, I whisper into his ear, “Bucky popped a knot when I marked him. Do you think you’ll do the same?”

Steve’s head bobs in a repetitive nod. A hum buzzes my lips as I look at Bucky, deepthroating our alpha, a glazed look in his eyes as he loses himself in the task.

“Then we better make sure our beta is safe,” I say, petting Steve’s chest.

My hand lowers, scratching lightly down his chest, until my fingers wrap around his cock at the base, the smooth tissue of his knot encased safely in my hand and away from Bucky’s mouth. I press lightly, squeezing just an itty-bitty bit around where his knot will form. Steve jolts, hips thrusting.

“Are you gonna cum?” I ask, eyes turning to Bucky who gives a subtle nod.

His lips are almost kissing my fingers as he moves, the subtle swipe of his tongue sending liquid heat pooling in my core. Steve doesn’t respond, too lost in his pleasure and inching toward his release.

And before he can shuffle off that edge, I propel him over, sinking my teeth into his scent gland. Steve shouts his climax, clinging onto Bucky as he spills his seed down our beta’s throat. His knot expands, pushing my fingers apart, the weight hot and heavy in my hand.

Steve’s blood drips in my mouth, his scent pouring over my senses. A rapturous shiver overtakes my body, a rolling wave of fulfillment. Unclenching my jaw, I pull away, licking over the wound and tending to it as feels right. Steve’s chest rises and falls in shaky pants as he comes down from his orgasm.

Bucky sits on his heels with a self-satisfied smirk covering his lips, along with a little bit of Steve. My hands grab at his face, pulling him up until I can lick at his lips and get a taste for myself. Our tongues tangle and I moan into Bucky’s mouth. After a moment, he pulls away, hands cradling my cheeks.

“Babydoll, don’t start something right now,” he scolds, no heat behind it but firm nonetheless.

My head bobs in a nod and I pull him down onto the couch until both my alpha and beta crowd me into the cushions.

Our breathing evens as we cuddle together on the couch, nude as the day we were born—there’s a reason packs try to have formal living rooms and den spaces separate. The three of us chat, about their work, plans for the rest of the day, how they’re going to show up on time, for once, at The Tower.

And then Bucky brings up the reason why we devolved into desperate creatures of lust in the den. Steve’s face drops, worry and distress evident on his features. His brows rise on his face before dropping to sit heavy above his eyes.

I bury my face into his neck, licking at my mark, a placating gesture. He, in turn, wraps himself around me, bundling me in his arms and standing quickly. My arms and legs lock around him with a surprised squeak, clinging to his figure—even though I know, after a week of him doing this _all the time_ , that he has the strength to hold my weight.

He storms into our bedroom, tossing me on the bed. Bucky scrambles in behind us, carefully pulling the clothes I laid out from under me and setting them aside. His face is drawn, slightly pinched with concern as he steps back, watching what unfolds. Steve looms over me, arms crossed and face serious.

“You were going to let yourself wither away and _die_ , instead of asking for help,” Steve accuses.

My eyes glance to Bucky, who shakes his head subtly as his eyes flick between our alpha and me. My mouth dries as I realize—Steve is _pissed_. My shoulders slump and I look down at the quilt covering the foot of the bed.

“But that’s not how it turned out,” I murmur, shame and regret creeping through my limbs.

The responding growl from Steve shoots straight through me. I squeeze my eyes shut and bare my throat on instinct, hoping to somehow appease his anger.

“No, omega, that’s not how it turned out,” he seethes. Anger burns through his scent, bitter and building.

Bucky strides forward, placing a gentle hand on our mate’s back. Steve pulls a deep breath into his lungs. He turns his head away from me and tears well in my eyes.

Oh God, Steve’s going to hate me forever—he’s going to tell me we have to break off the bond—this is the one step too far—I fucked up, _I fucked up_.

My hand wraps over my mouth, quieting the sobs that threaten to burst from within me, my breath beginning to heave out of my lungs. Bile rises in my throat, nausea churning in my guts.

Steve exhales loudly, a punch of air from his lungs, before turning to me, “We’re going to deal with this. But I won’t do it while I’m upset.” He lifts my head, locking eyes with me and I see it. He’s scared, absolutely petrified, under his anger. “So you’re gonna be a good girl and stay right here on the bed while I calm down and Bucky goes to retrieve some things. When we get back, we’ll sort this out.”

As soon as I nod, Steve leaves the room. Bucky walks over, a regretful look in his eye. He cups my cheek and leans forward, pressing a kiss to my forehead. My muscles strain to contort my features into a smile, but it doesn’t work. They snap back into a wobbly frown like a snapped rubber band.

With a murmur of ‘it’ll be okay,’ he leaves the room as well. Sitting in silence, I curl up on the bed, managing to keep my tears at bay. Though a strange acknowledgement creeps over me, accepting the inevitability of Steve and Bucky leaving me for good—a numbness that spreads over my limbs and starts sinking me downward toward oblivion.

I don’t know how much time passes before Steve and Bucky return. Both wearing bottoms, now—sweatpants that I’m sure they found in their gym bags—and no shirts. Bucky carries in a plate, piled with food of some sort. He sets it down before pulling the chair, in the corner, closer to the bed. Curiosity flickers like a dying candle, but is smothered quickly.

“Omega,” Steve sighs, sitting next to me on the edge of the bed.

His shoulders have relaxed and there’s the softness back in him that I love. His hand rubs over my back, and I press into the touch.

“Sit up for me, sweetheart.” Steve guides me up until I face him. Though his torso is angled toward me, he doesn’t display any discomfort. His hand pulls me so that I crawl next to him. And then I’m sitting on his lap, bundled tight in his arms, the soft fabric of his pants pressing against my bottom.

Some of my anxiety releases from my lungs, feeling like I can breathe again. But trepidation still sits in my bones, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You weren’t going to get treated for your touch deprivation since you thought that Bucky and I would be unavailable to help you.”

“Yes,” I reply, despite him not asking it as a question. I shift in his lap, nuzzling into his neck and scenting deeply.

“I can’t accept that, omega,” Steve says. His hands tighten where they hold me, pressing my body to his until no space exists between our skin. “No matter what, my wish is for you to be safe, happy, _alive_.” His eyes glance to the side at our beta. “Even if that doesn’t mean you’re with us.”

My eyes glance to Bucky, whose gaze reflects all of the anguish I feel bubbling up within me. Steve’s chest expands as he takes a deep breath.

“Now you’re officially ours, and we’re officially yours, you’ll never be in that position again,” Steve continues, a strong conviction lacing in his tone. “But we have to address the self-destructive nature of your initial decision. Because, speaking for myself, sweetheart, it scares the shit outta me to think that you would consider your life so carelessly.”

My teeth worry over my bottom lip, and my head ducks so that I can’t see the look on his face. But he doesn’t let me get away with it—oh no, not Steve. He tilts my head up with his finger and pulls my lip out from between my teeth. His face is a calm, collected mask, serious and unyielding.

“So here’s what we’re going to do,” he states. I shift on his lap, nerves jittering and anxiety rising. “I’m going to make sure you never take your own life for granted again, and then all will be forgiven.” He presses a kiss to my cheek, but his stare when he draws back glints with a dark intent. “But let me just say, that you will not be leaving this bed until you promise to never, _ever_ , think that way or stay silent like that again.”

I nod—and, God, do I feel like a bobble-head, but even the chance to gain Steve’s forgiveness is enough for me. My alpha pushes me to stand, my legs trembling as I wait for his instruction.

His hand pats his lap, twice.

My head tilts to the side in confusion. Steve’s hand grasps mine, pulling me over his lap, my chest resting on one thigh and my pelvis on the other as he spreads them apart. I situate myself for balance. Though questions still flood my mind about what is happening, an inkling begins to form.

“Are you alright?” he asks, a quiet inquisition. At my nod, he continues, “Good girl. Now, I’m going to spank you ten times and then all will be forgiven. Is that alright?”

My mind races, thoughts spiking to attention in my mind before fluttering away as I process what is about to happen. Steve doesn’t move, waiting for my answer, ready to accept either refusal or acquiescence.

When I hesitantly nod, he tuts. So I quickly answer, “Yes, Steve.”

“I’ll count for you,” he confirms.

His hand traces the line of my spine, down my back until he begins to rub over my ass, kneading it for a moment before switching to the other cheek. A shaky breath passes through my lips. Then his hand retreats.

The first smack sounds loud as a gunshot. His hand slapping against my skin. A choked gasp rips from me at the impact. Steve counts it off, but I’m focused on the initial sting and subsequent ache that sets in as blood rushes to the site. The second lands just as loud as the other in the quiet room, though on the other cheek.

On the third, that strange sense of numbness has well and truly left me.

On the fourth, my teeth ache from gritting them tight, holding back the tidal wave of emotion surging through me.

On the fifth, tears streak down my cheeks and sobs rack my chest.

Steve checks in, pulling my lip out from between my teeth, and I urge him on—needing his forgiveness. He complies with an affectionate pet of my head.

On the sixth, my body slumps pliant and yielding, breaths shaky and stuttered.

On the seventh, eighth, ninth, my eyes find Bucky, who sits in his chair, shifting and waiting to jump to my side. 

On the tenth, my ass burns with the pain of each spank, pulse throbbing in the cheeks.

Steve sits me up gently, hands smoothing over my body before reaching up and wiping away the tears and snot covering my face. He coos praise and forgiveness as he draws me into an embrace.

The bed dips as Bucky sits beside us, placing his plate of food by the pillows. My brain registers the discomfort of sitting on a soon-to-be-bruised rear end, but it can’t get through the utter elation that I’ve received my mates’ complete forgiveness.

My shaky breaths calm and my tears dry as Bucky nuzzles into my neck and Steve scoots us up the bed to rest against the headboard. My beta pokes a dried, pitted date toward my lips and I recoil, startled.

“You haven’t eaten since breakfast, babydoll,” he reminds. And my stomach gives a responding clench as I look at the food. “I promise, we brought some of your favorites.”

My lips wrap around the food in Bucky’s fingers, a hum of pleasure escaping me as I chew the sweet fruit. Steve and Bucky takes turns feeding me little bites of food, dates, cubes of cheese, cashews, and pistachios. Bucky leaves and comes back with two glasses of water, which he watches me drink.

As we relax against one another, again, I notice a weight lifted from my shoulders. Everything is finally out in the open, all my secrets shared and nothing to hide from my mates.

I nuzzle into their necks one after the other, swiping my tongue over their glands and pressing my body against theirs.

“Now, sweetheart,” Steve intones after I laze back against the pillows between them, “it’s time that we ensure you never do something like that again.”

Steve rounds on me, slotting his body between my thighs and starting a crusade of pleasure against my flesh. Bucky captures my lips and kisses me deep, swiping around my mouth with his tongue and pulling out all of the sounds that they create using my body as their instrument.

By the time Steve buries his face at the juncture of my thighs, I’m already crying out promises to my mates—or, probably, anyone within a fifty mile range—that I will be their good omega and never put myself in danger again. But they keep going and going, ripping me apart and stitching me back together until I’m a sobbing, depleted mess tangled betwixt the sheets.

Exhaustion creeping into the corners of my mind, my eyes loll over to the clock on our bedside table and widen at the time. I jolt out of bed, with much protest from everyone, and scramble to ready myself for drinks at The Tower. A frustrated sigh huffs out of my lips. Dammit, we’re going to be late.

*

The table sits in silence, waiting for our response. My hands knead together on my lap. My cheeks still fight the blush that heats my face—I lose. Biting my lip, I turn to my mates for help with the explanation. God knows, I don’t have an excuse—a socially acceptable excuse, that is.

Our friends’ eyes pry at us, knowing looks gracing their features the longer we sit in silence. Steve and Bucky say nothing, though I feel like the marks covering my neck and shoulders speak volumes.

“Well,” Clint comments, finally breaking the hush blanketing the table, “I can’t say I blame you for being late. If I had an omega like her, I’d never see you guys again.”

Muffled chuckles scatter around the table before breaking into laughter. Playful teases exchange between our friends as they poke fun at each other’s relationships and their own. I resist the urge—barely, oh, how much effort it takes—to run off to hide in humiliation. Instead, I take the high road and bury my face into Steve’s neck. Okay, so maybe not the high road, but a high _er_ road.

His hand drags up my back and squeezes at the nape of my neck. My sigh brushes his skin as my body melts into him—I will never get over that spine tingling sensation that turns my body into an absolute pile of jello. Eyes peeking out from Steve’s neck, I spot Bucky and reach out my hand to him.

His fingers entwine with mine and he presses a kiss to each of my knuckles. I giggle and hear his responding huff of laughter. Steve squeezes me, pulling me tight against his body, and drapes his other arm on the back of Bucky’s chair.

The three of us get lost in our own little world, exchanging glances and little gestures of affection as we listen to our friends share stories and laughs.

“Oh, God,” Tony pipes up. “Look at them.” He gestures to us with his empty tumbler. All eyes turn in our direction. “I’m going to vomit. You guys are too precious, I can’t handle this. Bruce, tell them to stop.”

A groan rumbles in my throat as I roll my eyes. A sappy smile pushes at the corners of my lips and I let it completely take over my face. Bucky smirks into his drink, flipping of the other alpha and the discussion turns back to Wanda and her brother—something about his eligibility to train for a chance to be on the Olympic running team.

After a moment, Steve shifts his hold on me, urging me up gently from my seat on his lap. I hiss quietly as he hits one of my sore spots, and stand. He excuses himself from the table, heading toward the restroom.

“Well, while I’m up, anyone need another round?” I ask.

A few hands raise and I take note of them, walking to the bar after brushing a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head. Bobbi saunters over as I approach, a wicked smile on her face. I rattle off the names of the people who need another drink—Tony and Thor, of course, but also Bruce and Natasha.

“Well, look at you,” she enthuses, eyes locked on the exposed skin of my neck. “Someone certainly had a rather eventful week.”

“She certainly did,” Natasha’s voice purrs from behind me.

I turn to my friend, uneasy about her following me to the bar. After last week, and what’s happened since—what Steve and Bucky told me about her intentions toward me—I’m not sure how to talk to her.

“Looks to me like she’s got herself all mated and sated,” Bobbi quips, grabbing a bottle and pouring Tony another Scotch. “It’s too bad for the rest of us.”

“I’ll say,” Natasha says, stepping up and leaning against the bar next to me.

A small smile paints her lips. I’m overcome by her scent, that sweet smell of mahogany and cinnamon apples. Nothing mars it or indicates any lingering upset. It’s just purely Natasha.

But, of course it is.

A mirroring smile stretches my lips as I turn to her. But she’s telling to Bobbi about a change to her usual. When Bobbi gets to work, focusing on mixing drinks and lining them all up for us, Natasha turns back to me. I step closer, looking down at her strong, yet petite frame.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t me,” I mutter, brow tilted in sympathy.

She waves her hand dismissively, leaning on the bar and breaking our eye contact. But not before I catch that slight glimmer of devastation deep in her eyes.

“Don’t worry about it, kotenok,” she replies with a smirk stretching her features. “It is what it is. We just weren’t meant to be.”

I scramble to think of the right way to respond to her. To help ease the sorrow in her eyes, and maybe give her hope about finding her own omega—the right one, who will fit with her and Clint like I do with Steve and Bucky.

Bobbi finishes the drinks, handing over a tray to carry them all and walks away with a smile—like she hadn’t overheard anything we said. That’s why I like Bobbi, she’s one of us, even if she barely acknowledges it.

I help arrange the drinks as Natasha holds the tray on the bar top. Even when I finish, she stays unmoving. My hand reaches out, to touch her arm and snap her out of her daze, but I don’t.

Instead, she asks, “are you really happy?”

“Yes,” I reply instantly—no thought necessary—because happy doesn’t even begin to cover it.

She bobs her head, once, in a decisive nod, turns on her heel and walks the tray over to the table. I follow her, slowly, eyes trying to gauge her state. But she’s Natasha, so it’s like trying to crack a Jacobite code without the cipher.

Once everyone has their drinks in their hands, the tray returned, she cuddles up with Clint. He bends and begins whispering in her ear and I turn away—it’s not my business what he’s saying, they’re not mine.

A strong arm sweeps me over to a tight hug, my feet lifting from the ground, absolutely encasing me in warmth and scent—ozone and pine. My arms wrap around the trunk of a torso to fully enjoy one of Thor’s famous hugs. A giggle erupts from my chest as he nuzzles the top of my head, a hearty laugh bellowing from him.

“You cannot guess how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he sighs, placing me back on my feet. “You always looked like you could use one, but never accepted it.”

He smooths his hand over my hair where his beard scratched against it, getting stuck and pulling strands out of place. I help him, straightening my clothes until they’re not so rumpled from his strong embrace. And it’s then that I notice the low-grade growl behind me.

Turning my head to see the source, Bucky wraps an arm around my right shoulder, across my body and pulls me back into his chest. He takes a step away from our giant blond friend and begins scenting me, drowning me in rain and leather.

He sets me on his lap, adjusting so I don’t sit on my bruises, and keeps me clutched to him. His eyes dart around us, watching everyone’s moves and waiting for Steve’s return.

We don’t have to wait long. He’s already walking toward our table by the time I’m settled in our beta’s lap. A scowl furrows his brows, a glare sent toward the back of Thor’s head. I suppress my chuckle with a hand over my lips.

By the twitch in Steve’s nose as he approaches us, I know he smells the last trace of Thor’s scent on me. He immediately snuffs it out with his own, tilting me head up and nuzzling into my neck. My alpha draws back and sits in his chair, wrapping a protective arm around Bucky and I in the seat beside him. Tony grumbles into his drink, but as soon as Bruce gives him the slightest nudge, he turns into absolute putty—the big softie.

The night carries on, the bar bustling with music and life. A contented grin stays plastered on my face as I debate the value of Disney movies with Tony, chant as Thor chugs three pints of beer in succession, listen to Natasha vent about her boss, try to understand Bruce’s newest project. Bucky smiles at Wanda as she tells us about working with the newest hire at the library—a vibrant girl with a flair for the dramatic—who I might get to meet soon, despite my mates’ apprehension. Steve groans when Clint divulges his plan to get revenge on the co-worker who keeps stealing his lunch—something including spam, paperclips, and a low-grade firework—I don’t ask for details, plausible deniability, people.

And I’m so far beyond happy, treasuring these moments with my family. Bundled in the warm arms of my alpha and my beta, finally knowing where I’m supposed to be, and nothing like that disheartened, pining girl I was a week ago—thank you very much.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I hope you like it. This series has one more installation coming up. But it won’t be up until I finish another story I’ve started. 
> 
> Leave a kudos or a comment if you want, they always make my day!


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